


At Wit's End

by vix_spes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Established Relationship, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Hannibal finds himself frustrated no end that, for some inexplicable reason, their daughter seems to prefer Will's cooking.





	At Wit's End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt at hannibalkink: Hannibal and Will have a daughter, and Hannibal cooks wonderful meals for her but to his frustration, she seems to prefer Will's cooking. No matter what Hannibal makes and how fancy it is she just is going to like Will's boxed macaroni and cheese better. this causes no end of frustration for Hannibal.

It was well-known among the PTA of a rather exclusive Baltimore school that, not only did the Lecter-Graham’s live in an amazing house full of priceless (if slightly odd) artefacts and paintings but Dr Lecter was the most incredible cook. Getting an invitation to one of their dinner parties was a little akin to winning the lottery and more than a few envious glances were thrown in the direction of Alana Bloom, the president of the PTA, and her wife Margot Verger who received the most invitations simply by being the parents of Morgan, Abigail Lecter-Graham’s best friend. Unfortunately for Dr Hannibal Lecter, there was someone rather close to home who wasn’t quite as appreciative of his cooking; his daughter.

From the day that they had brought her home from the hospital, Hannibal had insisted on nothing but the very best food for Abigail which, of course, meant only food that he cooked. Every was organic, sourced from the best suppliers and hand-made from scratch wherever possible. Hannibal spent hours poring through recipe books, trialling his own inventions and coming up with new concoctions and creations to tempt his loved ones. His husband had never been a picky eater, Will eating anything that Hannibal put in front of him enthusiastically and raving about it afterwards and Abigail had seemed set to take after her daddy with a far more wide-ranging palate than most five-year olds.

At least until recently.

It had only been recently that both Hannibal and Will had started to accept work opportunities that would take them away from Baltimore overnight and for longer trips. They had never discussed it but both had made the conscious decision to stay close to home and enjoy the early years of their daughter growing up. With Abigail now in kindergarten, they had started accepting invitations to conferences and the like that would take them away from home. Hannibal had been the first to take up such an offer, accepting a request to attend and give a lecture at a psychiatric conference in New York for four days. Indeed, it had been upon his return home about a month ago that Abigail seemed to have become a fussy eater.

Whereas before Abigail had been willing to try anything placed in front of her, even if she did pronounce that some of the dishes looked funny, now she had to be coaxed into eating things and more than a few meals had ended in tears and tantrums when she had refused to eat her meal and Hannibal had insisted that she remain at the table until she had eaten at least some of it. Meal times were no longer the pleasant family experience that they had been up until now and, missing them sorely, Hannibal was keen to rectify the situation.

His opportunity came with Will heading out of town to consult on a case in Seattle for the weekend. Although he would miss his husband, Hannibal had lots of plans for a ‘papa and Abigail bonding weekend’. Besides, Hannibal and Will had spent more than a few evenings indulging in phone sex in the years before Abigail’s arrival and Hannibal had no aversion to revisiting those days as well as creating new memories. He had planned his menus with the utmost care – even more so than usual – and spent an inordinate amount of time visiting farmers markets and artisan delis to ensure only the best ingredients made their way into the sacred space that was Hannibal’s kitchen.

It had seemed to start so promisingly.

Abigail had been placated by French toast and strawberries at the prospect of daddy going away for a few days and had seemed happy enough at the veritable feast that Hannibal had packed into the little cool bag emblazoned with puppies that served as Abigail’s lunchbox for school. Their evening meal on the Friday went well with Abigail only hesitating briefly over the pasta dish that Hannibal had put together before eating it without too much fuss as she chattered about her day at school and how Freddie Lounds got sent to the principal’s office for tattling.

It was Saturday when things turned into an unmitigated disaster. Hannibal’s perfectly cooked eggs benedict, complete with the best bacon the butcher had, homemade sourdough toast and an impeccable hollandaise sauce – something that had previously been a favourite of Abigail’s – had been greeted with a turned-up nose and the announcement that Abigail didn’t want ‘icky eggs’, she wanted a breakfast burrito, which was something Hannibal had never heard of. In the battle that ensued, Hannibal found himself cajoling his daughter and considering bribery for the first time ever, completely at a loss as to what could have changed her mind as to his cooking.

That breakfast set the tone for every single meal of the rest of the weekend. Hannibal found that every single meal was a battle and nothing that he made or suggested met with approval or appealed to Abigail’s taste buds. A testament to his increasing frustration, Hannibal’s kitchen resembled a disaster zone for the first time in history. Hannibal found himself infinitely grateful that bath time and bedtime weren’t as taxing as mealtimes but, even so, he found himself falling asleep in his study waiting for Will to phone without finishing his glass of wine, exhausted by the days trials and tribulations.

The following morning, Hannibal woke up determined not to have a repeat of the previous day; Abigail could have whatever she wanted to eat, albeit within reason.

Hannibal’s proclamation was met with Abigail’s firm and instantaneous request for a breakfast burrito. After some hasty research and input from Abigail from her seat perched on a stool by the breakfast bar, Hannibal found himself serving up what he thought was, in his opinion, a rather excellent breakfast burrito. Watching with bated breath, a satisfied grin spread across his lips as Abigail ate the whole thing only for the smile to disappear as Abigail announced that, while it was good, it ‘wasn’t as good as daddy’s’.

This comment set the tone for the day. Lunch – fried chicken and mashed potatoes – ‘tasted funny’ compared to how her daddy made it and Hannibal found himself exasperated at how their daughter could prefer Will’s cooking to his own when Hannibal was a gourmand and, until they had had Abigail, Will had had the terrible habit of forgetting to eat some meals altogether. The last straw came at dinner.

Abigail had requested macaroni and cheese and Hannibal had obliged, concocting a version made with four different types of artisan cheese and handmade pasta tossed with equal sized and perfectly cooked pieces of pancetta. Hannibal had been gratified by Will’s groan of anticipation as he walked into the kitchen sniffing the air appreciatively just as Hannibal pulled the dish out of the oven. However appreciative his husband was, the delight that Hannibal felt was somewhat tarnished by Abigail’s moue of slight disappointment as Hannibal set the plate in front of her.

Will paused from wolfing down his food, already halfway through his serving despite the dish’s temperature.

“What’s the matter, Abs? Why aren’t you eating? Mac’n’cheese is your favourite and papa made this especially for you.”

“It’s not your mac’n’cheese, daddy.”

“That’s it!” Hannibal wiped his mouth and placed his napkin deliberately on the table as he turned to his husband. “All weekend our daughter has fought me over her meals or told me that my food isn’t as good as yours. So, please, enlighten me as to the secrets of your clearly superior cooking.”

“If you promise not to divorce me, Hannibal.”

“Divorce you? Why would I…”

“Kraft mac’n’cheese from a box with hot dog pieces thrown in.”

Hannibal resisted the urge to bang his head on the table as he looked at his giggling daughter and somewhat sheepish husband. Really, they were so lucky that he loved them.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd prefer to comment on DW, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.dreamwidth.org/279570.html)


End file.
